Marcus Commodius
Rise Marcus Commodius was born to the Blackfoot tribe in 2247, the same year they where to be captured by Edward Sallow and Joshua Graham, later known as Caesar and the Malpais Legate or the Burned Man. It was Sallow who was able to mould the Blackfoot into what wastelanders across the West came to know as Caesar's Legion. Being a member of the founding tribe, Marcus was trained from a young age to fight in the Legion. Showing remarkable strategic skill and logical reasoning from a young age, it was his poor leadership skills and bad habits which held him back from succeeding where others had before him. As he grew, his mind and eye for strategy did as well, though so did his vices; slave women, and more so, liquor. Around 2277, he had attained his Centurion mantle and was granted a force to command. His debauchery, however, had not gone unnoticed. While Caesar had to acknowledge Commodius's potential as a military asset, he also had to test if he could handle being removed from the luxuries of Flagstaff for an extended time. Fortunately, the perfect test had recently surfaced. News from Colorado had recently arrived claiming there was Brotherhood of Steel movement in the area, possibly to retake Denver, also known as Dog Town, from Legion control. While the force of Servius Vibius Tappulus was handling the Brotherhood insurrection directly, the Caesar sent Marcus Commodius's battalion to serve as a rearguard in case the BoS would try to march on towards Arizona. Of course, Caesar knew that they never would. Commodius shared this knowledge, but could not go against the command of Caesar. So it was the Centurion was deployed to Mt. Elbert to block the Brotherhood from entering Arizona. This decision wasn't popular with Commodius, nor with his legion. This was a truly intelligent man who was effectively shipped to the rear line because of personality quirks. Commodius' men, of course, had to follow their Centurion into whatever assignment the Caesar gave them, though they all knew what Marcus knew. This wasn't an assignment, it was exile. Where most men would see this as a way to repent, Marcus saw it as a chance to drink himself to death without the Senate breathing down his back about it. Thankfully to that end, Mt. Elbert was home to a number of tribals who made pretty damn fine corn moonshine. Biding time The months spent on Mt. Elbert were slow going. It doesn't help that Marcus was drunk nearly the entire time. All the action was concentrated on the front line with the BoS, and any conflict on the mountain was squabbles with the cannibal tribals and such, so the troops and their Centurion alike grew anxious. Commodius was never one to listen to the chain of command, and as such he could barely bring himself to order his troops around. The growing itch for conflict within the ranks would eventually boil over, he thought, and it could be directed at him. In one of his more embarrassing and angry drunken bouts, Centurion Commodius ordered his troops to line up outside his tent. Walking up and down the ranks, he began to ramble on about loyalty and the legion and all sorts of nonsense. It was certainly a display of some humor, but the soldiers were trained better than to laugh at their Centurion. Drunken fool or not, the legionaries knew that any sort of disrespect could land them in the gladiator pit with a Yao-Guai. Eventually the lack of any real fighting, combined with their doubts of their leader, led Marcus' troops to seek out something to kill. Hunting parties began growing past what was needed to take down animals for food, and any scuffles with local tribes were finished by the legion swiftly and brutally. Back in Flagstaff word of the bloodthirsty Elbert Garrison. The soldiers outgrew their post up in the hills, and against their direct orders a handful deserted the mountain to fight on the front line. Some returned, they were crucified by a drunk centurion. Most never came back, as the hills of Colorado were twisting and devoid of much water. The Brotherhood of Steel never did reach Commodius, so there he sits. Inebriated, without respect from his troops, and bored out of his skull until someone can come along to put a bullet between his eyes. Most likely someone under the bull flag. Category:Characters Category:Caesar's Legion